all our winters to pass
by Mira-Jade
Summary: When Thor Allfather pays for a mistake of old with seemingly his life, it is left to Sif to put the balance to right again – with the help of an unwilling Loki, who, as always, bears an agenda of his own.
1. Chapter 1

"**all our winters to pass"**

**Genre**: Angst, Romance  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Time Frame<strong>: Future-fic  
><strong>Characters<strong>: Sif/Loki, Thor/Jane Foster, Ullr, Ocs

**Summary**: When Thor Allfather pays for a mistake of old with seemingly his life, it is left to Sif to put the balance to right again – with the help of an unwilling Loki, who, as always, bears an agenda of his own.

**Notes**: Hello, dear readers! I know, it has been too long since I last wrote for these two crazy kids. My Sif/Loki muse hit a wall something fierce, and I am trying to jar it back into place with this short story. And, that said, to all of you waiting for the next chapter of my Steel!verse: I thank you for your patience, you guys are _the best_! I do intend to get back to that story eventually - it is by no mean complete. In the meantime, I hope that you enjoy my latest offering to this unexpected and ridiculous ship. Sail on, my friends, sail on. :)

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

* * *

><p><strong>Part I<strong>

In her mind, she had planned this moment a thousand times.

Though he thought himself clever with his cloaks; with his enchantments designed to conceal and his spells of misdirection, she had always been able to peel his magicks away like a scab to reveal the wound beneath. She did so now, bowing her head before her shield and thinking: _north_, _as far north as you may_ as the vast everything and nothing of the cosmos rose before her.

Her shield pulsed with golden light in reply. It listened to her command; it answered her will. It shuddered once, hesitating, before felt a flush of _cold_ pulsed from the steel – cold enough to render flesh from bone, to still blood within veins - but she only set her mouth into a grim line against the wards seeking to hold her back. She insisted.

And the spells of old listened to her. They yielded.

Once, not long after the final battle that at last put Thor to the throne he had long struggled to avoid, he had sent two dozen of Asgard's best seiðrmanðr's to do this very task. None succeeded, and those who returned were different for that which they had seen – for what which their spells had struggled and failed to subdue. In a rare show of mercy, each mage was returned to their own minds some turns of the moon after their attempt at seeking the Worldslayer out, but only just.

Thor, as tender at his heart was, had seen his brother's leniency and hoped. Sif had merely set her jaw.

Yet, it was that open, _bruised_ look on Thor's face that set her path now. It was that memory that opened the way before her, that made her determination unmovable, her will unbendable.

The room shifted around her, and instead of bronze walls and the gentle bellow of the fire in the hearth, her open eyes – for she refused to close them – revealed the iridescent limbs of the Mother in all of her glory. Yggdrasil's branches, stretching through infinity, showed her both stars and far off worlds, each hung on the myriads of celestial strands that made up the universe they all inhabited. The colours of the cosmos shifted – _pressing – protesting_ – angrily for her presence, but she merely bowed her head and pushed on.

_"The wards are bound by blood,"_ the head mage had explained to Thor the reason for his failure. _"We cannot breach so powerful a magic."_

Yet, set upon the weapon she bore were Loki's own spells . . . Loki's own wards of protection and runes of power, and now she called upon a force she had not touched since before his fall – his _first_ fall – and asked them to aid her once more.

The wards protecting his hiding place dropped her without warning, letting her through as if miffed they had to do so. The colours and starlight simply vanished, and she was left in that same kneeling position she had begun in. A heartbeat passed, and she looked up, taking in her surroundings. Instead of the gilded halls of Glaðshemir underneath her feet, she was now kneeling upon the cold ground. Underneath her, there was a fresh layer of virgin snow, clean and cold and white to her senses. Around her rose tall evergreens – and the scent of cedar was thick and spicy in her nose alongside the towering shapes of the fir and spruce. Snow and ice frosted over their dark green limbs, turning them to icy specters upon a land that slept in want for spring.

Sif peered through the trees to where a wide river ran through the landscape – frozen for the season, though water still rushed underneath a great waterfall just to the west of her vision. Only the surface of the fall had frozen over, and the mighty cascade still rumbled as thunder, calling her senses back from where they still walked the byways beyond.

She looked, and saw a clearing where a simple structure of wooden logs stood - the small dwelling not unlike those they would use to break their hunt in the north of Asgard's wild. She felt a pang in her side, wondering if he had unconsciously recreated the memory . . . before remembering that Loki had never cared for the hunt. Her joy had not been his own.

At the thought, her mouth turned down, and a part of her (_Sif_ the woman, not _Sif_ who was and called to War) whispered that she could still turn back – _run - flee_ – and leave this place before she was found. But that part of her was one she had long struggled to silence, and she would not heed that voice now.

_Besides_, she thought darkly. _He already kn__ows I am here__._

Just as the thought crossed her mind, a dagger embedded itself in the wood of the tree closest to her head, glittering green and verdant against the icy blue tones of the winter-land around her. She heard no telling step in the snow. There was no indrawn breath or hiss of drawn steel giving his place away - only the dagger and the flare of green. Instinctively, she held herself still against another blow.

"That was a warning," a cold voice said from behind her. His voice was as dry as dead leaves - from disuse, she thought, rather than anything else. "The next one shall not be."

In her hands, her shield pulsed – warning her about the build of seiðr upon the air. For a moment she reflected on the irony of his spells protecting her from himself, before brushing the thought aside. The enchantments whispered that she could still turn back, that she could still return as she had came . . . Yet, she was not here for herself.

So, Sif stuck the hilt of her glaive in the ground, and leaned her weight on the weapon in order to stand. She squared her shoulders with the ground, and proudly tilted up her chin. The leather covering her fingers made a strained sound in the cold as she clenched them. The fur from the collar of her cloak tickled her throat, and it was such a discordant sensation in that moment that she fought the urge to smile. She instead focused on the set of her armor over her shoulders, on the Ivaldi-forged wings of her helm as they caught the winter-light, and -

She turned, and met his eyes.

"I would not doubt your aim if you wished to try," her voice too was a strained sound, forced and unnatural to her ears. "Yet, I fear that you would not find it to be that easy."

Loki's reply was swift. "_You_," he gave on a hiss, and Sif raised a brow in reply.

"Me," her voice was dry – purposely so, this time. She gestured to the small cabin in the clearing beyond, and raised a brow. "Are you going to play the gracious host and let me in? It is quite chilly outside."

His look, she thought with some satisfaction, had a bit of incredibility to it. The pupils of his eyes were blown wide, showing his surprise openly. Yet, she took no comfort in his confusion, ever knowing him at his worst when he was as an animal ready to bite in order to cover over a wound. She forced herself to meet his eyes, and found them more green than she had remembered, lit with the natural enchantments of the land around him. He was thinner than she had last know him to be; the lines of his face were harsh and sharp, sharp enough to cut if she but reached out to touch him. He wore no armor – not here, where he thought none could reach him - only simple hunter's leathers and a heavy white fur about his shoulders for warmth. His hair was long now, very long, hanging down his back in a simple, messy queue. No doubt he had tied it away out of annoyance for its hanging in his face, she imagined, and it was so very different from what she had long known that she stared, unwillingly taken aback.

Next she noticed the cord about his neck and the various trinkets hanging there – talismans and tokens, which he would not have dared to wear openly in Asgard. This she forced herself not to think of with a pang. The tips of his fingers were stained with ink from whatever project had his attention before she interrupted, and that was so very familiar that, for a moment . . .

"I do not believe that the rules of etiquette require me to give shelter to an assassin," Loki remarked. This time, she could hear his boots crunch in the snow when he stepped closer to her. "I thought that Thor would order forth more than the incompetent lackeys he first sent – but I never thought that he would send his sharpest blade."

"If I was here with death in mind," Sif promised in a low voice, "you would not have been able to throw your first dagger." War whispered through her words, and he tilted his head to the sound.

When he smiled, she could see his teeth. "Perhaps," he gave, but his eyes glittered. "Yet, for now, I have already tired of your visit, and would politely ask that you go back from whence you came."

"I cannot do that," she shook her head.

"I am sorry for my first implying a choice," his mouth turned unkind. "Leave. Now. Before I force you to."

Sif settled the end of her glaive in the ground. She met his eyes. "No."

"I," his words were hissed from between his teeth, as if he were something wild to match the land around him, "have served my exile well here. None have suffered by my hand, and none -"

" - none have benefited, either" she interrupted. "You serve a sentence of your own writing, but within it there is no penance, no effort to redress the wounds you have inflicted."

"I just ask to be left _in peace_. After what I have done – which can indeed be counted as payment enough for my _great wrongs_ - it is not so much to ask."

"Then, you would let this pass without seeing that blood is paid for blood?" she let her voice drip with scorn. It was not difficult to do so. "Of everything I had thought to know about you – even the _you_ of these past years . . . You would not let _this_ go unaddressed."

Sif saw where his eyes narrowed. Curiosity flickered through his gaze before he shoved the emotion away with a scowl of annoyance, yet it was too late. The damage was done.

"Of what do you refer to?" his voice was low. Everything steel-sharp about her could hear the deadly line in his voice – a more true warning than any snarled word or thrown blade.

"You have not heard?" she asked. She widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise, a part of her viciously enjoying the annoyance that flickered across his features.

"If you have not noticed," Loki retorted dryly, "This is not a place that word reaches quickly."

And so, she braced herself. She tilted her head and met his eyes – she refused to look away.

"Thor . . . " _your brother_, she almost said before seeing the way his gaze narrowed with a look that was colder than the wild land around them. "Thor . . ." for all of her strength, she could not force the simple syllables to pass from her mouth. Her tongue was full of words, yet she could not speak.

And so, like pressing a knife into flesh, she forced her thoughts to shape quickly and cleanly.

"Thor is dead," she let the words fall between them. "Thor is dead, and his murderer still walks free."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

_"Thor is dead," she dropped the words between them. "Thor is dead, and his murderer still walks free."_

Sif had never understood why so many referred to his face as a mask; closed off and unfeeling, sculpted from ice and stone rather than flesh and feeling. She watched him now - watched as his eyes flickered, the green within taking on an unholy glow of power. She watched his breath turn quick, his hands make fists, before -

Beneath her feet, the ground trembled, shaking the snow from the massive boughs of the trees above them. The river rushed and the great fall roared, the sleepy current beneath the frozen surface rising to slosh angrily against its confines. She tensed, expecting the wild magic about him to snap like a band pulled tight. The land itself answered to his rage and pain, and Sif waited, expectant . . .

Yet, Loki simply exhaled, and called his power back to himself when next he breathed. His eyes cleared, leaving only rage behind – familiar and poignant to her. If he felt pain at her news, he hid it well. She watched, but the fist of his left hand did not tremble.

"Perhaps," Loki bit the one word out with a forced civility, "we should continue this conversation indoors."

"I thank you," Sif replied just as stiffly.

She did not wait for him to lead. Instead, she picked her own path through the trees. A heartbeat passed, and slowly, he followed. Her shield pulsed in warning for her back being so exposed to him, but she refused to turn around. She could not yet hold his eyes again.

That familiar feeling of _awareness_ she normally had for his watching her was not there, so she assumed that he was absorbed in his own thoughts. That suited her just well, she told herself, and held her glaive more firmly in hand.

The cabin, when they entered, was a simple thing. There was only one square room within - with a wood burning stove in the furthest corner and a large table that Loki used as a desk in the corner closest to the door. There were no shelves, only a chest or two, with books and scrolls piled and thrown haphazardly atop their broad surfaces. She glanced to the left to see a bed made and untouched – not out of some sense of tidiness, she knew, but from lack of use. She thought again of the dark circles beneath his eyes and forced herself not to _feel_ at the thought. His welfare was no longer her concern - it had not been for quite some time. She told herself that she only worried for his lack of sleep effecting his control over his seiðr in the days to come.

She glanced again at the room, this time seeing not the humble size and shape of her settings, but rather, the glimpses of wealth and comfort that she could always attribute to Loki. Thick, exotic furs were draped over the bed, and over the left wall hung a tapestry as the room's only decoration. She looked curiously at the story the weaving told, seeing no tale that she knew. Yet, she knew an elvish hand when she saw one, and she picked out six massive figures feeding six massive bowls of water to the roots of a great tree . . . and she wondered at it. There were long, elegant daggers imbedded in the wall through the tapestry – thrown from the desk, she espied the trajectory, no doubt from Loki when he needed to clear his mind of the pages he poured through. The room's one chair and table were wood from Vanaheimr's great Red Forest, carved to depict longships tossing and turning upon a turbulent sea, a serpent rising from the depths of the waves with glittering eyes of emerald to face the hapless sailors. Gold and bronze inlaid the few chests there were, and the books were all bound in leather and painstakingly written by a scholar's caring hand. In those few she could see there was a historian's treasure trove of knowledge and rare words.

The desk, as ever, was a mess of controlled chaos when she approached it. There were empty inkwells alongside those full, and clippings from quills dotted the wood like crumbs. There were various artifacts and trinkets whose use she knew not - some glittering with precious materials, while others were dull and deceivingly unassuming. He had maps and a compass out, and she could see everywhere from the Nine Realms to the far off places of the universe mapped – stretching from the Kree Empire to the Shi'ar Imperium. Queer markings were made all about, and she spared a moment for wondering before filing the information away for later.

There was one particularly large book out on the desk, and she espied his familiar, spidering script set cramped and crooked into the margins of the pages. She could not even guess the language the book was written in, and so (after refusing to remember long days sharpening her knives while he sat in the library, pouring over tomes even older than they) she turned away. Next to the book was a small chest, locked and warded, and even she – with her veins dead to seiðr – could feel the enchantments that pulsed from it. She knew better than to touch it, and after a moment's wondering, she gave it no more thought.

Sif did not ask to be invited to sit before taking a seat in the chair next to the desk – the only chair, for he never had guests – with an ease and grace she did not feel. She propped her boots up on the table, and watched with some black amusement as Loki waved a hand to clean up the melting snow and mud from the soles before it could soak into his maps. The thoughtless use of his seiðr tickled against her skin, and she again wondered over the ease of it.

She next took off her helm – an unspoken truce between them – and placed it onto the open book with a careless motion. The steel was heavy, and the sound it made against the pages was dull. She watched as a muscle high in Loki's cheek twitched in annoyance – once, she thought with a pang, that annoyance would have turned to playfulness. He would have snapped his fingers and her helm would have levitated to dance just beyond her reach as she tried to reclaim it, until . . .

. . . yet, that was another thought she pushed away, having no use for it. She was silent for a long moment, regarding him as he stood tall and ill at ease in a space that was so clearly his own. She raised a brow, and waited for him to speak.

"You have news on . . ." his throat worked. He stopped. She could read the word _brother_ in his eyes, even if he could not force it from his mouth. "You have news regarding Thor."

"Thor is dead . . . Or," she amended her words, softening them to lessen their blow, "he will be."

Loki's eyes were furious and dark on her. She watched where a vein throbbed in his neck, where he had to work his throat in order to swallow. Yet, he waited for her to speak. He did not interrupt her.

"A wraith was summoned against him," she continued, speaking slowly so as to ensure his complete attention. "The specter was a soul-stealer, drawn from the shadowed mists of Niflheimr."

"That is impossible," Loki interrupted with a wave of his hand. "The last of the wraiths were hunted to extinction by Buri First-father – long before even Odin was born."

Sif shrugged. "One must have slipped through the cracks," she turned a measuring eye on him. "It is not such an unheard of thing." Her words were pointed.

"Perhaps," Loki muttered. Something flickered in his eyes, and she wondered at his thoughts before continuing on. "Who is the unfortunately stupid being who sought to control such a force?"

"The services of this wraith were summoned by the brothers Gangr and Iði, sons of Ölvaldi, the Jötunn lord of old. I assume that you remember them?" In the end, his lack of reaction gave his knowing away more so than any flare of feeling. She tapped her fingers against the carved surface of the table, suddenly restless."We know that they sought to redress the punishment of their brother Þjazi, whose spirit even now rests in the Star-keeper's prison."

Long ago, when they were little more than children – youths, not yet into the century of their majority – Þjazi had formed a plot to kidnap Iðunn, an Aesir woman whose grove of apples was said to grant immortality to those partaking of them. Loki owed Þjazi a life-debt at the time – from another one of Thor's youthful escapades gone wrong, though that part of the tale was rarely remembered – and he had paid his debt by aiding the Jötunn lord in abducting Iðunn from Asgard. And yet, as soon as the parameters of his agreement were fulfilled, Loki then turned on Þjazi and brought Iðunn back home safely through his own efforts – efforts that also led to the capture of Þjazi and his sentencing to a lifetime imprisonment amongst the stars.

Loki did not speak, and so, she continued: "The brothers were too late to seek recompense with Odin, who originally sentenced their brother. Even Thor knows little of his father's wanderings, and Odin could not be reached."

His mouth turned tight at her words. His eyes darkened – yet, there was only satisfaction in his gaze. He had paid an eye for an eye with his dealings with his once-father, and he would not seek apologies for that crime - not when he did not believe himself to be in the wrong. She sucked in a sharp breath of retort, and continued, "With Odin unavailable, they settled for his next of blood. Thor aimed to fight the brothers, but they turned the wraith on his family in reply – knowing that they stood little chance crossing the Thunderer in arms."

Sif swallowed, remembering the horrible, _greedy_ cry of the creature that was more shadow than shape, alongside the wide, terrified eyes of the boys who held up their small arms to a foe that no steel could face. A sharp taste filled her mouth, and she swallowed away her want to war.

"The twins are just learning to bear arms, and the Allmother is expecting a daughter by the time the snow thaws," Sif said tightly. "Thor would not risk them, and he offered his own soul freely if they would accept it and leave his family be . . . Gangr and Iði agreed to his terms, and made the trade."

She let out a deep breath, thinking of Móði's bright blue eyes – like storm light in the sky, and Magni's easy way of laughing at the slightest coaxing. She thought of Jane's grip – tight enough to bruise, no matter the human shape of her bones – around her arm before she left. Jane's eyes had been pleading, even when her words were cool and calm as she asked her to bring her husband home. Sif exhaled, feeling her purpose settle about her anew, as strong as the steel of her armor.

A ripple of feeling touched Loki's brow before it smoothed away. He did not know his brother's family, she thought. What should have been his right and dearest privilege was now nothing but a few names and shadowy rumors. He had not been there to watch Jane dig in her heels and hold her head up high to keep that which was hers. In the end, the woman who had reordered the stars themselves was not one to trifle with - as Asgard's court had soon learned, to the ill of many and the gain of a privileged few. Loki had not been there to watch Thor settle into the role of king and husband and father . . . he had not been there to see his brother rule with wisdom and a tender heart, nor was he there to stand as a shield to those who viewed the tender years of his reign as a _weakness,_ rather than a hunger to rise equal to the names of those who came before him. Loki had not been there to calm Thor as he paced the corridor beyond the birthing chamber the day his sons were born. Loki was not the second one to welcome the boys into the world them after Thor released his awe-struck, _wondering_ hold on the twins to share them with those who were eager to love them. Instead, _Sif_ had in Loki's place, and now she watched the flicker of regret in his eyes, but felt little of the satisfaction she first thought she would. Instead, she felt only weariness.

"Whatever the brothers are using to control the wraith makes them impossible to track," Sif admitted, pushing aside her thoughts of family and kin – no matter the ties of blood. "Not even Heimdall can see them. And yet, we know their final destination. They must take Thor's soul to the Star-keeper in order to trade it for the soul of their brother. That prison is -"

" - no," Loki said before she could complete her words. His voice was harsh and raw – and final. "You know not what you ask."

"I need your help to access the byway," she pushed on, uncaring of the way his eyes shadowed – with that which she would call _dread_ if she did not know him better. "The bifröst cannot reach this place, and yet -"

"_No_," he said again, the single word like a spark thrown from a blade. "No, I cannot."

"You can not, or you will not?" Sif challenged. She took her feet down from the desk, and leaned forward in her seat, intent on holding his gaze.

"Perhaps I quite simply _care_ not," he retorted. "Perhaps it is as simple as I do not _feel_ like helping." For all of his childish words, his teeth were bared and his eyes were fierce slits of green. The surprisingly warm air of the cabin was charged. Beyond, she imagined, it had started to snow.

"You do not lie well," she pushed back at him after a long moment. "It does not suit you."

"To the contrary," he all but sneered his words, "I have made quite a name of it, or do you not remember?"

"Never to me," she proclaimed boldly. "Even _then_, a part of me knew."

He had stared down from the throne with Odin's eyes, and even without completely understanding her own mind, a part of her had known and stayed her mourning of his 'death'. Even when _'Odin's'_ eyes continued to watch her – so much so that the court started to whisper of Odin taking a new wife and fathering a new heir after the disappointments both his _sons_ had proven to be . . . She swallowed, forcing herself not to think of the days she had spent with her _king_ sending her to nearly every corner of the galaxy – dealing with too many unsavory creatures to mention – searching . . . _seeking_ . . .

"Then, you played your mask better than I played mine," Loki raised a brow. He did not believe her - and the irony of that was not lost on her.

Sif gave a sharp snort of breath in reply, but found that her throat was curiously dry when she went to speak. This wound was still more raw than first she had thought. She swallowed, and found her breath.

Yet, Loki did not take her silence as anything more than her anger. He ignored her, and made a sweeping gesture about the cabin. "As much as I have enjoyed our little chat, you can see that I am _very_ busy - "

" - indeed, you must not have a moment to spare," she drawled - before something about his words prickled at her. She raised a brow, suddenly wondering . . . "What _are_ you working on?" she asked. For it would not be characteristic of Loki to sit here for decades and twiddle his thumbs with nothing but contemplation and _peace_ as his idle companions. No, he had assigned himself a task, and -

Sif looked down at the table again, and felt a flare of power bite against her senses from the small little chest. Even as blind to seiðr as she was, centuries of recognizing his magicks made warning whisper about her skin, as unsettling as the wind that picked up beyond the cabin's walls. She reached out a hand, wondering what he had hidden away when he reached out, viper fast, to grab her wrist and stay her movements. She felt his grip tighten about the leather and steel of her vambrace, and her blood quickened in that way that left her unsure if she wanted to pull him close or inflict a blow. But, it had always been that way between them, even when his name was clear and his mind only suffered underneath a fraction of the shadow that now burdened it.

"I would not touch that," Loki warned darkly. She had not been this close to him since the day his enchantments had fallen - leaving just _Loki_ in Odin's place, _Loki_ upon Odin's throne . . . She was close enough to see the purple around the sockets of his eyes, the way the long lines of his throat worked when he swallowed, and he too stared . . .

"My lady," Loki said with a sigh. This time, he sounded only weary, and she saw her chance. She was _close_.

"_Do not_," she hissed. "Do not speak unless it is the right thing you wish to say. You owe him this!" she exclaimed, wrenching her wrist away from his grip. "You _owe_ him, and -"

" - I owe _not a thing_. Not to Thor, and not to Asgard," his voice was harsh in reply. "And the cancellation of my debt is the very reason that I refuse to visit the Star-keeper's prison, or do you forget who else lies within her hold? What remains of Thanos is bound away there, and _that_ is reason enough for Huld's keep to be erased from the bifröst's sight."

"So you would leave Thor to an eternity of that torment?" her words were hot, showing more feeling than she cared to reveal. "If you feel yourself so absolved, then why are you _here?_ Why are you _here_, alone, when you could . . ." Sif faltered. She could not force her words out when they included those like _family_ and _comrades_ and _loved ones._ She could not speak when each word was both true and false at the same time. So, she swallowed them all away. "You are here when everyone else is - " she amended her sentence, but too late.

" - and who cares for my absence?" Loki returned, his voice steeped with derision and disbelief. He stalked across the small room like a caged beast, his step restless and brimming with a dangerous tension as he paced. "Who looks to my place and feels regret for my shadow?"

"Your brother did!" Sif exclaimed, rising to her feet in a single, agitated motion. "You're _brother_ has _ever_ mourned your every misstep, while others felt only betrayal and rage." She swallowed away her own feeling, struggling to cut away her own ties to the situation at hand – and such a severance was one that surprised her with how hard it was to complete. She steeled herself, and continued, "Ever have Thor's eyes been on the shadows, hoping for the day that you would return. He _understood_, as he always has."

Loki snorted, shaking his head in a motion that was more denial than disbelief. "And what I do now, I do also for Thor. He would do the same if asked – for Thanos sleeps amongst the stars, for the betterment of _all_, and I would not hasten his return any sooner than I may."

She stared at him, amazed. "So you are here . . . preparing for this far off day?" she raised a brow dubiously.

"Obviously," Loki sneered. "Forgive me for not expecting you to understand. But I have a great deal to accomplish before then, and you are ruining what was at first a very productive day."

She felt rage lick at her bones like fire. "Then your debt is still not paid if you feel it necessary to make such preparations!" she returned. "You turned Thanos' attention to Midgard in the first place. To Asgard and all Nine of the Realms -"

"Thanos' eye was set on the _universe_," Loki snorted. "I only steered his path quicker than he would have first set it."

Even still, she could see the way he swallowed. His throat was dry. Even to mankind, their tales detailed those who were stronger than the gods - and titans like Thanos ruled over all, no matter the story. She had never specifically asked him what he saw during his fall – what he saw when Thanos caught him from the nothingness of the cosmos, and he worked his tongue to spin silver words in order to . . .

But no. She still would not ask.

"I fix my mistakes," Loki said in a low voice, lost in his own thoughts. In many ways, she imagined that they aligned closely with her own. "Or have the stories forgotten that?"

"That is why I am here," she said in a low voice. "_I_ never forgot that. _Thor_ never forgot that -"

"I do not want to hear any more -" his voice was an angry, wounded sound from his throat. For a moment, she did not recognize it.

"Why? Because the truth hurts?" she pressed on, advancing on him as he backed away from her. She used the truth as her weapon, blunt and battering as she struck again and _again_.

"Sif . . ." her name was a low, dangerous syllable from his mouth. "I need for you to be silent."

And yet, she continued. She held her head up high, as if she faced him with steel rather than words. "It is true, no matter how much you would deny it. The _truth_ is that some things you cannot run from -"

"Sif."

" - some things you cannot forget -"

"Sif."

" - and pretend that they once meant _nothing_, when -"

"_Sif_."

Her throat stopped working. She opened her mouth, yet no sound came forth when she tried to speak. Her hand flew to her throat, but she could feel no wound, only -

She looked and saw where Loki held up a hand. His look was narrowed and troubled, but his eyes were bright with seiðr, and for a moment she felt white hot anger flare up from deep inside of her. He would not _dare_ . . .

"I said _silence_," he hissed on a furious whisper.

The wards about her throat shimmered. He released her words.

She sucked in a sharp breath, and found her vocal cords raw from her fighting against the hold of his magic. "The next time you cast such an enchantment, I will cut out your tongue," her voice was strained as she made her promise. "So make sure your spells are strong."

He held up his hand again, ignoring the war in her voice as few could. "You were _followed_," he rolled his eyes as he gave his explanation, as if irked that he had to take a moment to do so.

Sif blinked, taken aback. "How is that possible?" her voice was low so as to let him work without her interruption. She watched as his eyes narrowed – feeling around the edges of his wards and shields with a deliberate, cold concentration. "Only the Allmother and Heimdell knew of my task, and - "

"Obviously, your brother's sight grows dim with the passing of the years. And Jane is still – or was – human," Loki said with a sneer. "These wards are bound by _blood_ . . . whoever this is must be powerful indeed to follow on your trail."

Suddenly, understanding hit her like a blade sinking deep between rib-bones. She sucked in a breath as Loki waved a hand, opening a path through his spells to grant whatever foolish soul trying to reach him a way to follow. Purple mist and green magic swirled, opening a portal as the light danced angry and potent against the back wall of the cabin.

"It does not matter," Loki said in a voice low with promise. She surged forward, fear rising in her throat as a sour, _horrible_ taste in reply to the violence that was suddenly tangible on the air.

"Loki! Stay your hand!" she reached out to hold him back, even as a familiar figure stepped through the path Loki had opened. She looked, seeing where a pair of hazel eyes and a mop of messy black hair appeared, and -

"Mother?" those familiar eyes widened with surprise as Loki's wards released the youth with a flare of green magic and startled power.

Yet, the surprise in Ullr's eyes was nothing as compared to the wide, stunned look Loki turned on her – a look that was as a blow itself as he looked from the boy to her and repeated: _"Mother?"_ in a voice fraught with questions.

" . . . _mother_," Loki stated once more in a low, dead voice.

In reply, Sif took in a deep breath, and steeled herself as if for battle.


End file.
